


Swipe or Stick?

by turnedherbrain



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 01:52:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18129392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnedherbrain/pseuds/turnedherbrain
Summary: Date night, with a difference.





	Swipe or Stick?

‘No. Nonononono!! I....’

‘Yes. Yes. Yes!! I know what you’re going to say,’ your best friend Lucy smiles, having had this conversation with you a hundred times. ‘ _“I can’t do it, I’m off men, my horoscope says I shouldn’t meet anyone new”_...’

‘Well actually, this week’s horoscope _did_ say...’

‘Shhh.’ says Lucy with finality. ‘We’re going.’

...

And that’s how, exactly a week later, you find yourself outside a nondescript pub-restaurant in a slightly neglected part of town. The Queen of Bohemia. Hardly the most auspicious place for new beginnings. A sign tacked to the window reads: ‘Swipe or Stick? Singles Night!’ and you can make out a blur of moving forms beyond the frosted glass. The familiar constricting feeling of anticipation and terror comes over you, as Lucy tugs at your arm and pulls you in through the door.

Inside, the decor looks like it hasn’t been changed since the 1970s... no, wait. Make that the 1870s. The clientele too, are an awkward mix of expectant young singletons, and the pub regulars: men at the tail-end of their fifties, leaning against the bar as they survey the crowd of interlopers with mild bemusement.

‘Hi everyone, I’m your host, Celeste,’ beams the copper-barneted woman who’s seized the mic. ‘Welcome to Swipe or Stick, the singles’ night with a big difference,’ she trills cheerily. ‘You will have three mini dates – and a delicious course from our reasonably-priced set menu with each. At the end of the night, you can ‘swipe’ – “I like you, but the chemistry just ain’t there” – or ‘stick’ with them. If you both ‘stick’... that means you’re stuck on each other, haha!’

Celeste pauses as if expecting questions, but there are none. She’s clearly never heard of Tinder or watched ‘Dinner Date’. ‘Aaaaand if you and your datee are stuck on each other, well... then it’s a lurvvve match!’ finishes Celeste triumphantly. You look at Lucy, eyes brimful with your silent message: _‘When can we leave?’_

But the bustling Celeste sweeps you quite literally away and steers you expertly to the nearest table for two. ‘Good luck!’ she sing-songs.

‘Save me!’ you appeal to Lucy, who replies with a double thumbs up and a cheeky grin.

The first two courses of the dinner don’t go too badly, lubricated by some drinkable red from the Scaramouche region and helped a lot by the fact that, very surprisingly, your datees are super-cute.

For starters there’s Ben, trying to grow some stubble on his baby face and nervously whomping down the dough balls you’ve been served. ‘I’m a dentist,’ he offers through mouthfuls. ‘It’s boring, but it’s my life.’

Hmmmm, cute, you think, as you get distracted by his green green eyes.

The main course is even better. You order a second bottle of red and are entertained by Joe, an engineer who loves Italian food and dreams of being in a rock band. Wow, you think. _Two_ cuties. And you begin to wonder if there are rules about how many datees you’re allowed to be completely stuck on.

The dessert finally arrives, and Joe stands reluctantly as his replacement turns up. As your final datee folds himself into the seat, long legs knocking the adjoining table, you think, mhmmm, tall. As he leans in to refill your glass you think: mhmhmmm, handsome. Very handsome.

He’s saying something, and you realise he’s asking you a question. ‘What do you _love_?’

That stops all thoughts, as you realise that neither of your other two datees asked you anything. They were too busy talking all about themselves.

‘I love... strawberries... the light on waves in the moonlight; music...’

‘That’s funny,’ he grins. He is ridiculously handsome. ‘Those are all things I love, too!’

‘We should get married!’ you blurt, only half-joking.

His fingers accidentally stroke your hand as he reaches for his water glass. ‘Married?’ He pretends to consider. ‘Let’s give it time. Maybe after the second date?’ That same smile again, ugh. Stick, stick, stickstickstick already! ‘So... you said you love music? Favourite band?’

‘Queen. No question,’ you say.

This time, though, he looks genuinely surprised. ‘Really? Because... I was going to say them, too.’

And you’re off. Ten minutes later your desserts remain untouched, the ice cream slow-melting on the plates. You’ve not stopped talking, or looking intently at each other, or accidentally-on-purpose letting your knees touch under the table.

The nervous anticipation has transformed into excitement, a flow of feeling that dims every other conversation around you, including Celeste’s strident voice as she announces: ‘End of the evening, folks! Now’s the deciding time: who do you swipe, and who do you stick with? Use your ballot papers to decide! Take some time and space, guys...’ and she bustles around, reorganising everyone so they’re no longer with any of their datees.

As your final datee is ushered unceremoniously out of his seat, you realise with horror that you don’t know his name, even though you know his favourite Queen lyric. He obviously realises the same thing at the same instant, as you twist and turn to find one another again in the parting crowd.

‘My name’s Y/N,’ you mouth exaggeratedly, and see him smile as he gets it.

‘Gollum,’ he mouths back.

‘What?’

‘Gordon,’ he articulates silently. At least, you think that’s what he’s saying. You wish that you could lip-read.

‘It’s Gwilym,’ leans in Lucy, who’s appeared at your tableside. She helpfully guides your hand on the Swipe or Stick ballot paper to spell it. ‘It’s Welsh. Are you sticking or swiping? Because I’ve found a sweet guy called Rami. Very kind, very intellectual. I think that I’m going to stick with him.’

Then she wanders off nonchalantly to the bar, as the opening line of ‘Somebody To Love’ kicks in from the pub jukebox and you see Gwilym, folded ballot paper in hand, looking intently at the music menu, trying not to turn and guess what choice you’ve made.

Forget your horoscope. Forget every whisper of doubt, every question. You write on the ballot paper, in clear, bold caps: STICK. 


End file.
